


Your arms around my neck (and your breath upon my skin)

by the_authors_exploits



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Fluff, Kinda, all i can visualize is Harry and Peter slow dancing, dafuq, not really - Freeform, so I wrote it, with thousands of Harry!female!suitors watching like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any gala is boring; a Stark and Osborn gala? Boring as-<br/>But then there's Parker...</p><p>(If only he'd pay attention to Harry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your arms around my neck (and your breath upon my skin)

**Author's Note:**

> To that person who author subscribed to me: THIS IS FOR YOU~~

The white wine was sour; Harry scowled into his glass, the light liquid swishing about. Maybe he got a bad glass, so he scanned the room for a waiter. His eyes rested upon his father and Tony Stark, faux socializing amiably. Norman’s eyes were cold and icy, and Tony’s smirk was too egotistical for their conversation to be going very well.

Sighing, Harry observed his drink again. These boring, unnecessary gatherings were thrown too often and quite bothersome. He flicked his bangs out of his face with a toss of his head and once more took in the room. He caught the eye of a girl—nineteen, red head, caked on makeup that did no good in complimenting her soft pale skin, flirtatiously sashaying across the room with a twinkle in her eyes, straight towards him—and sent her a glare. She faltered, and she turned her attention to another young man.

Harry heaved another breath; there were no good, interesting people to socialize with—

Except maybe _him_. One Peter Parker.

Peter was laughing with a group of ladies—Myrtle, bleach blonde, soft spoken; Julie, sister to Amanda, both well-endowed in the boob department; Livia, a foreign beauty; Alexia yet another bleach blonde; Serine sported a short, spiked, orange colored do—across the room; the only reason he was here was because Harry had invited him, for company during the tedious night, but he had been swept away almost immediately by a gaggle of girls and women.

That left Harry alone. He rolled the wine again, swallowed it in one gulp. Harry would need copious amounts of alcohol if he was going to survive the night.

Peter stole another glance at his friend; Harry was still sulking as he had been since the beginning of the night. He seemed to have downed his third glass of wine and was now in search of stronger drink, if his roving eyes were anything to go by.

The girls laughed at something someone had said and Peter gave a polite chuckle.

“So tell me, Peter: is there a special girl in your life?”

His thoughts flashed to Gwen. Yes, she was special. Very special, his first girlfriend-turned-best friend. But that wasn’t what the girl—an ebony haired girl with a cute lilting laugh and perfectly manicured nails who went by the name of Julie—was asking. He shook his head. “No, nobody special. Yet.”

Julie’s smile faltered, while the other girls regained a certain twinkle in their eyes. Amanda, another black haired beauty with a humor to boot, took a half step forward. “Aw, come on, tell us!”

Peter blushed. “No, no, uh… I really don’t have anyone, honest.”

“Come now, there must be someone you’re at least interested in.”

Peter nursed his own glass of wine, shook his head when he was done. “Really, I’m serious.”

Amanda and Livia—a dark skinned, curly haired woman—stepped forward and took hold of either his arms.

Livia spoke with an accented voice, her words crisp and flowing: “Come, there must be someone you’ve taken notice of here. How about Arienne?” She motioned towards a redhead near Harry across the room. “She’s sweet hearted and has a good personality.”

Peter found himself distracted by Harry’s pinched face, the blue eyes piercing through the throng of girls to settle on Peter. The blond held a cup of what looked like scotch, and Peter gave a halfhearted shrug, gaze still on his friend. “Yeah, she’s very kind, but I’m not interested in a relationship right now, ladies.”

They all looked at him with wide eyes and nearly slack jaws, Amanda and Livia pulling away as if they couldn’t believe what they just heard.

“Not interested?”

“Darling, you need to be interested in someone.”

“You’re too perfect to stay single, sweetie.”

“Someone must’ve caught your eye!”

Peter had sensory overload from the all angle attack. “Uhh, what?”

Around the room, soft music started to play and couples made their way to the center of the room, where it was cleared for dancing.

Arienne sidled next to Harry, observing the dance floor delicately. “Do you dance, Mister Osborn?”

Harry quickly swallowed a gulp of the amber drink in his glass and chose not to answer; his eyes were still trained on Peter. How dare he laugh and converse with those, those—seagulls of girls! Like flocking to a fry in the parking lot; you’d think they’d never seen a good looking guy before… They didn’t have to hog Peter all night…

“May I have this dance, Harry?”               

Harry had had enough. “No, I already have a partner.”

He set his scotch down on a passing tray and made his way straight through the throng of dancers to Peter’s group, leaving Arienne alone and rejected. He tugged at the cuffs of his blazer; of course, he was dressed in full dress suit, whereas Peter had a rather fancy pair of dark jeans and a red short-sleeve shirt with a nice black jacket over it.

Red was Peter’s color.

Harry swooped in on Peter’s left side as the girls continued to chatter. He gripped his friend’s sleeve, shot everyone a charismatic smile that silenced them all. “I’m afraid Peter has other plans to hold to.” Harry plucked the wine glass from the limp fingers, shoved it in a passing patron’s hands, and pulled Peter towards the dance floor. He ignored the whiney cries of the females left behind and instead whirled to wrap his arms around Peter’s shoulders; Peter’s hands came to rest just above his hips.

“Really, Har? You’ve resorted to dragging me away from people just to get a little attention.” While unconventional, Peter would never say no to what Harry wanted; a dance it would be.

The smirk on Peter’s face didn’t assuage Harry’s glare, however. “They dragged you away first! Besides, you were invited to keep me company; not some frilly, fake…females!”

Peter huffed a laugh; Harry swayed to the music under his hands. “They weren’t that bad; they were very nice and sweet.”

Harry shifted his arms over Peter’s shoulders, tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in his gut as he felt the minute shifts of those calloused palms against his sides. “Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be _my_ friend, Petey.”

He stopped in his slow motions to regard his companion; Harry genuinely looked hurt and betrayed. Peter looked over the top of his head to the group he’d left behind to see them whispering and conspiring and indicating the pair on the dance floor; he tightened his grip on the slim hips. “I am your friend, Harry. I’m sorry for leaving you, okay?”

Harry merrily nodded; his gaze was locked somewhere at Peter’s collarbone. “Yeah, well, they shouldn’t have hogged you so much. And you should have refused their company.”

Peter swayed, gave a quick downturn of his lips, a facial shrug. “But that would be rude.”

It should’ve been Harry’s night, rude or not, Peter should’ve given him his undivided attention. That’s what Harry wanted. To be the center of Peter’s life if for one night.

They didn’t say anything for a while, rocking gently to the music in each other’s arms. While Harry studied his friend’s neck, Peter took in the room. The girls were still giggling and talking, while others milled about, and Tony Stark was regarding Peter and Harry curiously. Peter gave him a friendly smile and Tony slowly returned it, before chasing after a waiter.

Harry took a half step closer and when Peter turned to regard him he smelled strawberry shampoo. “You still use strawberry shampoo?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah. So?”

Peter shrugged, enjoying the added weight of the smaller boy’s arms on his shoulders. He caught sight of Norman Osborn glaring at them; more specifically, glaring at Harry. “You’re dad’s watching you.”

Harry scoffed a laugh, brought his hands up to bury in the shaggy brown hair as he pulled his friend closer, hid his face against Peter’s neck. He smelled of spices and subtle cologne, comforting. “I don’t care.”

Peter let him have his way; it wasn’t often Harry was so tactile and Peter took full advantage of when he was. “You never did.”

“Damn straight; he can shove it.”

Peter chuckled; it got caught in his throat when he felt a soft puff of air against his skin.

The slow song was nearing its end and Peter wound his arms around the slim waist to clasp his hands against Harry’s lower back. To keep him close for a bit longer. But of course the song ended, and with it the closeness was lost. Harry pulled away sharply and stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Peter knew it would be a while before he received any more physical contact with the young heir.

Harry fixed his bangs, thrust the hand back in his pocket, swallowed. “You should return to your companions.”

“Har—”

“Go on.” A tilt of the chin, and Peter was dismissed. “You’ve been missed.”

Peter wanted to add _by you_ so he could stay and offer some form of comfort for his obviously upset friend. But Norman making his way through the crowd to the pair gave Peter little option: stay, and listen to Norman belittle and berate Harry, or leave and allow Harry to escape through the crowd (two people were easy to track, one was easily lost). So Peter wandered aimlessly back to the girls, and they nabbed him immediately.

“Are you very good friends with Mister Osborn?”

“Tell us everything!”

“How good of a dancer is he?”

“What does he smell like?”

“How does he get his hair so perfect looking?”

“Is it soft?”

“Ohh, it must be!”

He wondered if he should find it worrisome that he knew the answer to all those questions. He answered them to the best of his ability and missed the shared glances and mirrored knowing glaze in all six pairs of eyes. When he tried to find his friend through the crowd, Harry was nowhere to be found and Norman was in a heated conversation with Mister Stark.

Peter knew that there would be yelling soon and Stark would be thrown out, so to avoid the drama he excused himself.

=====

Harry’s hiding spot wasn’t very effective as Peter found him in less than forty-five minutes. The terrace seemed like a good place to hide; after all, the only people who would venture onto the balcony would be romantic, hormonal couples trying to cop a dangerous feel for shits and giggles. No one at the gathering seemed interested in getting it on, so Harry had felt safe.

He’d plucked a flower from the vines winding over the latticed covering on the brick wall by the door and plonked down on a bench near the edge, absently tearing the petals. God, how he needed a drink! Or something to snort. Yeah, drugs seemed like the better option. He was considering how to acquire them when Peter came up and took a seat next to him. Too startled to do anything, Harry just stared. Peter quirked a brow, twitched a smile.

“She loves me, she loves me not?”

Harry looked at the torn flower in his hands. “Maybe, something like that…yeah.”

Peter just nodded. “Arienne? The red head?” At Harry’s befuddled look, Peter continued. “She was eyeing you all night, dude, come on! You didn’t notice?”

Yes; no? Peter was more distracting than a redhead. He shrugged and tossed the ruined plant over the thick, brick railing.

“Hey, I can see Orion!”

It was the only constellation Harry could find, because Peter had showed him it; of course Peter would point out that constellation. Harry regarded the dark sky. “Hmm.”

The brunet gave him a strange look. “Not very talkative, Har. What’s wrong?”

“I need a drink.”

Peter hated drinking. “Bud, I think you’ve had enough; what, two wines and a scotch?”

“I had some vodka before the gala started.”

How was he not drunk yet? “Yeah, definitely enough then. What do you say we go bug the cook for a parfait?”

“I want a drink.”

Peter nodded, stood, and reached to grab hold of the other’s arm. “Parfait it is! Come on—”

Harry had the element of surprise on his side when he grabbed Peter’s arm, tugged harshly, and felt the other’s lips on his.

It was a bit messy, what with Peter still standing and maybe Harry was a little drunk because his aim was way off and their teeth clacked some, but it was short and almost chaste. When they pulled apart, Harry looked positively terrified and Peter just a little bit content.

“That was…unexpected.”

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug, still gripping the black jacket sleeve in his hand almost nervously.

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again, though.” Peter took his non-captured hand and gently cupped the soft cheek, gently easing it into a position that allowed better access to those plush lips. “Maybe something like this.”

The second kiss was kinder and slower and just a bit more lip movement was involved.

And if Peter stayed the night and his new found gaggle of girl-friends bombarded him for details in the morning (how ever his cellphone number came into their possession was a mystery), well, he didn’t mind. He could never say no to Harry, after all; whether it was a kiss goodnight or a dance at two in the morning when Harry couldn’t sleep, Peter never said no.


End file.
